A person I know who shall remain nameless told me of a trip taken on all terrain vehicles through the back country wilderness of Cudjoe Key. He recommended a few weeks ago that I try it on my Bonneville, I might enjoy the exploration as much as he had. I figured I had procrastinated long enough and it was time to get going before the rains come back. Which they don't seem to be in any hurry to do, this "rainy" season. Clouds were forming over Cudjoe Key when I arrived in the middle of a sweltering hot afternoon:
There was no shelter for the Bonneville so I had to leave it out in the sun, poor thing, while I took off on foot. The signs were faded and illegible but I knew they indicated this as being a National Wildlife area so I wasn't going to drive the Bonneville down the trail:
The path through the mangroves started out in typical style, firm and dry underfoot lined by the pale green leaves of black and white mangroves stretching off to the horizon:
Well, I thought to myself, this won't take long. I strode along in the sun congratulating myself for taking some time on a work day afternoon to knock off this pending exploration. I had sunscreen on my nose and ears and though I lacked water I wasn't going to be gone long as clearly there wasn't much to see. I saw some grass at one point along the trail and it looked unusually pastoral for this part of the world:
I poked around and started to get an inkling that perhaps I might like this place more than I had at first thought. There was a car lurking in the bushes. It had been there so long it was rusted though and it lay sprawling under a mangrove tree that was actually growing through it, impaling it, leaving it with doors flung open and its bodywork brown with corrosion barely visible:
I couldn't help but wonder what it's story was; taken out and dumped ignominiously. Around the corner from the carcass of the car was a gate that screamed Mel Brooks to me:
It sat there bravely guarding its space which was open on both ends. Who knows perhaps it locked the wrecked car inside, those many years ago.
And as if I needed further proof that this was a bridle path I came across these in the crusty dry clay left behind from a rainless winter:
I think this place would be a positive marsh after a downpour, and underneath the mangroves I could spot puddles of water here and there and vast areas of more dried clay:
And then around a corner in the path I found a puddle of epic proportions, deep dark and mysterious. As lakes go it was small, and really outside of the Keys it would probably not rate as a pond, but this is Cudjoe Key so I call it a lagoon of what is, in all likelihood fresh water. I wasn't about to taste it though: 
And I could hear some pretty heavy rustling from the clump of mangroves on the other side of the water. It could have been the light west breeze shuffling the dead leaves...or could it have been...an alligator? Nah, I don't think there's enough water to support a dinosaur out here. Besides the prey would be pretty sparse wouldn't it? Key deer at the drinking hole, birds perhaps and the odd motorcyclist sweating by as a pedestrian in his sneakers...I kept moving briskly.
This giant piece of rubbish was not representative of the trail as a whole because of human trash there really wasn't much at all. I saw a couple of pieces of plywood (?) in the mangroves and very worn tin cans far off the trail but that was about all. It was pristine. Except for signs of vehicular traffic in the mud:
And clearly the ATV riders had some fun kicking up spray into the mangroves as they went by:
By now I could discern marine engines racing, deep throated, up the channel alongside Cudjoe to the east and the breeze seemed stronger the closer I walked to the water, which was still unseen through the mangroves. Except when it wasn't! A finger of salt water pushed through from the middle of the island a perfect canal penetrating deep into the interior. I needed a kayak:
With the increasing moisture I took a right turn away from the water but the trail started to fade immediately:
And so I called it a day. On a map I measured the walk at just over a mile and a half, and there does appear to be the possibility, depending on water levels, of connecting by trail to the Spain Boulevard area off Blimp Road. That would explain the evidence of horses as there are stables on that part of Cudjoe.
This was a beautiful spot, cooled by the breeze, quiet and far from anything very much except for Nature's handiwork, everywhere visible:
And so I turned and started on the return journey down the long winding trail of hard packed dirt and mangroves:
I took a break, in the sun lacking shade, and in so doing I observed that which I had been taught in class. Because mangroves flourish around salt water some people believe, erroneously, that they survive on saltwater, but only in a manner of speaking. They absorb the saltwater, but have adapted to expel the salt through their leaves, which die, turn yellow and fall off taking the salt with them. These white mangroves had salt coating their leaves:
I can't remember the ins and outs of all the botanical details, they never stick in my brain, but there it was, salt on the leaves. At this overheated stage I could have used some potable fresh water as the path through the bushes was snug and breeze free.
In winter it is very pleasant to be out on a brisk 65 degree (17 Celsius) day with a strong north wind blowing overhead and to find oneself snug among the leaves and branches, listening to the wind ravish the crackling palm fronds and mangrove shrubs. In the heat of summer it is rather less so. But in the distance the baking summer sun illuminated a few tin roofs reassuring me that the civilization of Cudjoe Key was to hand:
Home, home to air conditioning, ice cold water and shade. Exploration is all very well, but in summer its best enjoyed in moderation, especially when you have a night's work ahead of you.
I haven't taken a night wander lately so I left work last week with the intent to do some prowling downtown. It gets light early this time of year so I didn't have much time to take pictures before the sun started to peak over the city spoiling the night effect. I zipped down to the 
The marina attached to the hotel is known in the city as Pier B. Why B I don't really know. The Outer Mole is called just that or the Navy Pier because the military owns it and Mallory Square where smaller cruise ships tie up is called Mallory Square so the 
During the day, later than six o'clock in the morning, this area bustles with visitors, hotel guests and boat Captains who keep their boats in the 
The waterfront is quite attractive as far as resort construction goes. Lots of people might make the argument that this was proportioned better for human use in the Good Old Days, when shipping in Key West was commercial not tourist based, and the docks and wharves were classic 19
And yes, there are the usual tourist oriented shops including, I might add, a coffee shop that opens at six to service the boat Captains getting ready to take their passengers out for a day of fishing. Buy a coffee sit out on the dock and wait for the sun to come up. Or you could wait a few hours and buy a...whatever it is they sell here:
Or anywhere else 
I'd rather eat worms than go shopping but this complex isn't as 
The marina still attracts people with expensive tastes in boats, people who for some reason like to leave their outside lights on all night:
Take heart, they bring excellently varnished furnishings with them, the better to sit out and admire our 
There are boats built to a more modest scale but don't be fooled, even this cute little launch all lit up and ready to go is here to serve those of a certain standing, for this is the Sunset Key ferry: 
There are a few retirees who have chosen to live year round on Sunset Key, the 
Sunset Key is another stark example of Conchs selling their heritage for a mess of 
I am no 
Give it twelve more hours and they will be out to crowd the waterfront and toast the sun as it disappears yet again. 
For an island four miles long by two miles wide (6 kilometres by 3) Key West manages to tuck away quite a few unknown and unknowable spots. When one is faced by an undeniable shortage of land surrounded by an ocean, the human response is to make the most of what you do have. Now that I've lived here for a while I'd like to go back to Monaco and seek out the less obvious corners that I never bothered to in the past. Away from the aquarium and casino there must be an entire culture of the minuscule I was never attuned to seeking out when riding a motorcycle meant going as far and notching up as many locations as possible. Ah youth! Pass the bottle...
Key West has an abundance of nooks set aside for human refreshment, not of the liquid sort, for a change, but of that part that other activities cannot reach. Well, the fact is these tiny parks would be fabulous is they actually offered somewhere to sit and contemplate, but in response to the residentially challenged habit of permanently occupying any flat surface all city benches and sitting arrangements have been removed from Bill Butler Park. There is a child's playground, possibly owing to the fact that spending all day in a child's swing is beyond the capacity of even the most determined loafer:
Bill Butler is a pretty little spot, green shady and relatively clean. In my pictures it looks quite huge and in terms of pocket parks I visit in this essay it is the second largest, and one of the shadiest:
On Google maps its shown at Pourhouse Lane which should be Poorhouse Lane (where we are all destined to end up the way things are going), not far from the cemetery. And that's all the link you get unless someone wants to waste their time adding links for each park in the comments section. I say have fun searching and finding. A couple of surprised visitors found the park on their rented bicycles and passed me by with smiles of pure delight as they freewheeled on through. And look at the access lanes they used, pure Key West:
You won't need a map to find the next one. Clinton Square is a triangle in proper Conch style (we don't need no stinkin' geometry!) and it is crossed by a gazillion tourists a day especially when cruise ships dock at Mallory and the Westin. This lot didn't pause:
These two did, to smear lotion on those lily white limbs, poor things:
In the middle of the swarm of t-shirt shops, souvenir stands and Conch trains is this not divine?
And naturally there used to be benches to sit on and enjoy the peace of a tiny triangle in the midst of the bustle. Now the benches are gone as is the pervasive stench of stale urine, so I suppose...it's a good compromise? Bring your own chair. If you are having trouble locating this tiniest of parks let me put it, and the Bonneville, for Janna, in context:
If you need more than Clinton Square you will need to move further afield, perhaps a cooling swim at this point in the tour. That would be next to the Community Pool at the end of Catherine Street, where we find not one but two parks bracketing the above ground pool. Willie Ward Park, whose splendid donated flag pole flies at the top of this essay is blessed with seating arrangements:
Further afield one tends to come across pocket parks that have more of a neighborhood flavor. A short walk from Bill Butler we have, on the other side of the cemetery, the Angela Street Park, which was the first spot converted to park use and is thus known generally as the Pocket Park.
It's on the south side of the island at the corner of Alberta and Seminole Streets. If that's too vague let me see if this puts it in context:
That white block would be Casa Marina viewed from the rear. The dark blob is the Bonneville. 
If you find yourself in difficulty finding this one you need a GPS implanted in your brain. Just look for the marker (not the Bonneville -its long gone from here):
This was the most popular piece from a past Sculpture in the Park exhibit at Fort Zachary, and it appears to have found a permanent home in New Town. Very cool.
There were tons of parents with toddlers, strollers and people hanging out chatting and watching the youngsters tossing a ball. It was a perfect end to a hard fought tour. Key West, a livable place to live. Oh and its not on Google maps, but if you can find 19th Terrace you will be close. Please don't tell them I sent you, they seem to like to keep it to themselves.